The Chaos Effect
by Boooklover12
Summary: On a log in India, a Red Lacewing butterfly flaps its wings and starts a chain reaction. Even the smallest things can have far reaching consequences, especially when magic gets involved.
1. The Butterfly

**Disclaimer: If I had a billion dollars... I'd probably buy a lifetime supply of chocolate, but that's not the point. Not J. K. Rowling, folks.**

 **The Chaos Effect**

 _Chaos - /_ _ˈkāˌäs/ n. a state of complete disorder and confusion_

 _Effect - /əˈfekt/ n. a change that is a result or consequence of an action or other cause_

A butterfly flaps its wings in India.

This was seemingly inconsequential to the world at large. No human witnessed the world-changing event. The butterfly was the cause of a chain reaction - one that would grow progressively bigger until it became one massive headache for destiny. One could argue that the butterfly flapped its wings for some other reason - it needed more food and had just caught the scent of a wonderful flower, it was scared by the rustle in the bushes nearby.

The truth, however, was that the butterfly, somewhere in the tiny brain it possessed, simply wished to flap its wings. No matter what destiny may proclaim, life always holds the intrinsic ability to _decide_. This sudden bout of fancy - if you could claim an insect even possessed desire for meaningless pleasantries, could change everything. The butterfly was ignorant of its importance in the universe - small at first though it may seem - and, happy with the results of the first harmless flap, did so again. The Red Lacewing, as that was what it was called, sat contentedly on a log, orange and brown wings spread so as to catch the maximum amount of sunlight. Unfortunately for the butterfly, the first flap of its brilliant wings had been rather eye catching. A nearby male Red Junglefowl, the cause of the rustle in the bushes, saw the orange wings sweep down and back up again. Eye catching, indeed.

With all the stealth that the plump bird could manage, it snuck closer to the innocent butterfly perched on the log. It tilted its head side to side with the stereotypical birdlike twitches. The butterfly began to preen with two black front legs. Brown and orange wings swung back and forth tantalizingly. The Red Junglefowl, no longer keeping to any pretense of stealth, lunged. If butterflies could look startled, this one certainly was. With one flap of oh so bright wings, the butterfly launched its tiny body from the log. Letting out an indignant squawk at the absence of its meal, the Junglefowl gave chase.

The butterfly floated higher and higher, seemingly oblivious to both the indignant fowl and the dangers the high sky posed. It didn't care about the impending doom both above, and if the fowl was fast enough, below - it just liked the feeling of sun filtering through the jungle leaves on its wings. The Junglefowl followed below on hasty feet and short bursts of flight. The butterfly swooped and soared, right onto a gravel road, enthusiastic follower right behind. A blue pickup truck, traveling faster than the speed limit would allow, sped right past the butterfly. The poor Red Lacewing had no chance - it was saved only by luck. The winds of the passing car threw it upside down and away, leaving the unstable insect to a potentially disastrous flight path. Righting itself at the last possible moment, the Red Lacewing, natural beauty intact, winged its way off into the forest.

The hungry Red Jungle fowl was not as lucky. Tires screeching, the pickup tried to stop before creating roadkill. The fowl turned glittering black eyes towards its impending doom, the instinct to freeze clearly overrunning the more logical instinct to move. It tilted its head to the side as the front fender of the car came ever closer. The pickup fishtailed as the driver swerved in a last attempt to avoid the fowl. The back tires slid off the road and into a nearby ditch with a loud squelch, sinking into wet mud. The fowl, enlivened by the terrifying noise, screeched and took off into the surrounding shrubbery.

The driver and passenger got out of the now muddy truck. The driver was in his early thirties, while his passenger was far younger, at only twelve. Both of them glared at the offending tire firmly wedged in the mud.

"Great, just great," said the older of the two, getting down on his knees to inspect the depth that the tire had sunk to. "Now we'll be late."

The younger man didn't seem concerned. "It's okay, dad. The interviews don't start for another twenty minutes."

This didn't reassure the older man, who was pushing with both hands against the back of the car. He brushed off mud flecked jeans as he readjusted his position. "It sets a rather bad example, Amun."

Amun didn't blink. "But father, you're in charge."

The boy's father sighed and resumed pushing against the back of the truck. "I have to report to a boss too, Amun. Just because I manage the engineers in one section doesn't mean I have total control."

He gestured to the car. "Come help - it's stuck real well this time."

Joining forces, father and son leaned against the back of the truck. With a loud squelch, the tire came free, and the truck started to roll. "Damn it!"

Running toward the moving door, the thirty-year-old unlocked the car and moved into the seat. With practiced fingers, he pulled the parking brake. Once again, the poor pickup skidded to a dusty stop.

The twelve-year-old was silent for a moment before breaking out in cheers. "Go Dad! That was awesome!" He jumped up and down before sprinting down the hill, completely oblivious to the potential that the situation had for utter disaster. In the front seat, the boy's father closed his eyes and took a deep breath. As the young boy climbed into the passenger side, he allowed a small smile to grace his lips. Tugging the seat belt across his chest to fasten it, he ignored his child's excited chatter and moved the truck to drive. Still smiling, he continued to work.

Amun was still talking about 'his dad's awesome moves' when they pulled into the parking lot. They both quickly jumped out of their seats and headed to the door, rushing past bewildered security guards to an office.

"Amun, you need to stay here until the interview is over."

Amun stomped a foot on the carpeted floor. "But Dad! I wanna see what happens! You said that it wasn't that secret anyway."

The thirty-year-old crumbled. "I'll tell you all about it when it's over, okay? I'm already late - I'll come see you after."

With that, he quickly sped out of the office. He walked briskly toward the interview room, pausing and high-fiving coworkers as he passed. He adjusted his rather twisted tie, and stopped briefly before the door to brush some of the mud off his jeans.

He had no way of knowing that his lateness was going to drastically change the impending interview. One of the men inside, Alan Gunman, was having a bad day. The lateness only made it worse. He was more annoyed and and snappish than usual - and had already put off the other man applying for the job. The late start of the interview put him over the edge. If he had been in his normal mood, he would have been hired. As it was, he made a horrible impression.

The other man, Don Baral, was not particularly bothered by the late start. It didn't affect him anyway - he had all day to do this. He didn't particularly like the other man applying though, and wished they had been given separate waiting rooms. He was much more pleasant to talk to, and made a better impression.

It was no surprise that the company hired Don Baral.

However, if the thirty-year-old father hadn't been late, they would have hired Alan Gunman. Alan would have made a better impression - still not as good as Don, but with his prior experience he would have won against the recent college graduate. As it so happened, Don, while untrained, was the better of the two. Once he joined the team, Don showed himself to be more talented than Alan ever was. So talented, in fact, that he moved up the entire productivity. This was just the little push that the team needed to get out the new product - improved software for drilling machinery. The team's success influenced the rest of the company, allowing the entire corporation to push the exposition date closer. They unveiled their product sooner that the drilling companies expected, causing an all out free-for-all bidding war. The company that everyone believed to be the winner of the rights, an English company called Grunnings, was shifted from the top spot. The unexpected time change allowed a smaller company by the name of Drill Market to take the spot. Drill Market sent out a representative fastest, and the sweet-talking brunette managed to get a deal in the first twenty four hours. The saleswoman got a significant raise for snatching the deal from right under Grunnings' nose - and she was not afraid to celebrate her success with fellow co-workers. It wasn't long before Grunnings learned of the deal and the CEO, Megan Howser, immediately rounded on the man in charge of the sales department. He promptly informed her that the deal was the responsibility of his partner - he was in charge of deals involving other parts of the drill's apparatus.

She turned to the man that he had told her was responsible - a man named Vernon Dursley.

 **-The Chaos Effect-**

 _ **12:15 pm, June 1, 1996, Grunnings office, outskirts of London, the U.K.**_

Vernon Dursley was having a horrible day. First, he had been stopped in the hall by his partner - who was insufferable, thinking himself above Vernon - and informed that _he_ had missed an important deal. Vernon told him, quite loudly, that the deal wouldn't come in for another month, because the company who hosted it had already announced the date. Grunnings always got the top spot, so there was nothing to worry about. His co worker responded - quite rudely, in Vernon's opinion - that the exposition had been moved up a month and had happened yesterday. He also said that the CEO - some woman named Megan - was mad at him. (Vernon didn't know her - and what was she doing in business anyway? It was a man's job, after all.) Megan had come down to the office and politely informed him that he had a month - one month! - to remedy the agreement or he was going to be fired. How could he buy things for his angelic little boy if he was fired? Not to mention feeding the _freak_. The boy was scheduled to come home today. Vernon had to go out of his way by three hours to drive to Kings cross to pick _him_ up. And he wouldn't even be grateful! The boy would stare out the window like he did every year - not even offering a word of thanks.

Ungrateful brat.

Poor Petunia would have to clean up after that boy for the entire summer...

Vernon slammed his hand on the desk, rattling the computer screen perched precariously on a plastic box and making the gray stapler near it jump. Letting out an angry sigh, he swung his large birth around on his desk chair and prepared to bellow at the top of his lungs.

"MARTHA!"

There was an eep from outside the office as Vernon's secretary dropped the file she'd been holding. Why she'd taken this job was a mystery to all who knew Vernon, and most had concluded that Martha was just desperate. Vernon's last three secretaries before Martha had quit after only a week, leaving Vernon bellowing their supposed faults to the entire office for days. Most were glad that Vernon had someone else to pointlessly yell at when he was frustrated, but they also felt incredibly sorry for her. Vernon was not a nice person, and an even worse boss.

Martha turned the corner and stopped what she felt was a safe distance from the red faced Vernon.

"Yes, Sir?"

Vernon's small brown eyes watered as he squinted at her. "Get me some coffee."

Martha shifted from one heeled shoe to the other. "But Sir, I just got you-"

"NOW!" Vernon bellowed, double chins shaking with anger. He shook a fist at her, making his substantial underarms swing back and forth. Martha watched the flab quiver with her mouth open in horror. Vernon's face turned puce.

"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR, IMBECILE? GO!"

Martha squeaked and tore out of the office as fast as her heels would let her, no longer caring that her boss had asked for coffee just fifteen minutes ago.

Vernon muttered something about incompetence and swung back to the desk, poor chair squeaking as he did so. He clicked on the email box with more force than was necessary, once again rattling his computer. He scrolled through emails, completely ignoring the ones that came from his subordinates, to pull up a new draft.

He had just started typing in the unfortunate receiver's name when he happened to glance at the time in the lower right corner of the screen.

Twelve thirty pm.

He was already half an hour late to pick up the brat, considering that the drive was three hours and the train came at three. Vernon didn't particularly care about letting the brat stew for a while, but this meant that he'd be late to get home for Dudley's tv show.

In an even worse mood than before, Vernon heaved himself out of his chair and lumbered over to the coat hanging by the door of the office. He grabbed his key card off the desk and marched over to the elevator, glaring at each and every one of his fellow co workers he passed.

When he arrived on the ground floor he swiped the card through a scanner and was out the door before the tell tale green light even lit up.

 **-The Chaos Effect-**

 _ **3:30 pm, June 1, 1996, King's Cross Station, London, the U.K.**_

Harry Potter sat on a trunk in a crowded station, head propped up on his elbows, staring at the grungy floor. His uncle was late. Half an hour late. At first, the Order members had wanted to stay to talk with his uncle, but they'd long since left after Harry had told them that it was 'fine,' and his uncle had probably gotten caught up in traffic.

Harry knew perfectly well that his uncle wasn't caught up in traffic. Vernon had probably forgotten about him, or wanted to punish him for something completely out of his control - his magic, for instance.

Nevertheless, the order members and his friends had left, leaving him sitting there feeling lonely and sorry for himself.

They had no idea. None at all. Harry had just lost a person who was a father to him, and _they just brushed it off._ Sirius was Harry's only experience with someone who actually _cared._ Sure, he had friends, but they didn't really understand. They hadn't heard their mother's final moments played over and over and over in their heads until their father joined in. They hadn't faced death every year. It was always Harry, by himself, putting up a shiny _Gryffindor_ facade so they wouldn't wonder like everybody else if he was crazy, or going dark, or a cheater.

He was tired. Tired of telling people that he wasn't like of telling people that he wasn't just the Boy-who-lived, that he was mostly Harry - the boy who thought magic was wonderful and just wanted to be normal.

But they wanted a figurehead. Someone to imagine however they desired, and when Harry didn't live up to their imaginations, they ridiculed and scorned him.

And Dumbledore. Dumbledore had kept this from him, had plopped his destiny in his lap like a smelly dead thing, saying, "Here you go! This is your problem now!"

Harry didn't want his destiny. Didn't want the fame or the knowledge. Dumbledore should have told him many things, but this just topped the list. If Dumbledore had told him, he would have tried harder, learned more, understood why his life was so messed up. Here was the reason his parents had died, and he was just now learning about it?

Harry felt like someone had stabbed him in the gut.

And then the thing that topped the cake. They had told him this, right after his only family had died, and they had patted him on the head like a small child. They had left him. Abandoned him to his least favorite people in the world, the people who heard his nightmares about the classmate that had died before his eyes and _teased_ him about it.

It was in that moment, as Harry sat on his trunk in a crowded train station, that he realized no one cared. Sirius was gone, and he was the only one who understood Harry, the only one to really get it. If Harry wanted to change anything, he was going to have to do it himself.

 **-The Chaos Effect-**

Vernon pulled into the parking lot with a loud squeal from his car's tires. He was late! He couldn't believe how slow some drivers were, pausing and looking both ways like five year olds while he had somewhere to be. He'd run a grand total of three red lights on his way to the station (those traffic workers had no idea about lights anyway) and he was still going to miss his show with Dudley!

Vernon swung into a spot and was out the door without even touching the seat belt he hadn't bothered to fasten. Slamming the door harder than necessary, he stormed toward the station to 'find the brat' as he had told Petunia this morning.

A mother with two young boys gave him a heavy glare when he nearly knocked over her luggage. Vernon did not apologize.

It didn't take long for him to find the boy, lounging on his trunk in the middle of the station, getting in the good, _normal_ people's way. Just the sight made Vernon's blood boil.

"Boy!"

Harry jumped off the trunk with a start. Vernon snorted. The brat looked like he had been deep in thought. _Probably thinking about what he could do to the nice regular folks,_ thought Vernon. _I'll show him._

Lunging forward, Vernon seized his nephew's arm and started hauling him toward the exit of the station. Harry grabbed his trunk just in time, taking it with him. While there was no doubt that Vernon was a large man, he also had a fair bit of strength.

They made a strange sight - a large, blustering man who was swiftly turning an angry puce, and a scrawny fifteen year old with taped glasses and a trunk nearly bigger than he was. And that was without mentioning the owl cage or Harry's unusually green eyes.

Harry's eyes were very, very green - like his mother's. When he had been younger, Petunia had called them the 'mark of the devil,' and taken him to a priest to be exorcised. Luckily the priest was a kind man, and just took Harry into a room where Petunia couldn't see and gave him a lolly.

Petunia never tried to 'cleanse' Harry again, stating that it was impossible and it was best not to waste their hard earned wages on the freak. Harry thought it had something to do with the fact that the priest had given Petunia one of the most scornful looks Harry had ever seen.

Vernon let go of Harry's arm to open the boot, stepping into the driver's side before Harry even had the chance to consider asking for help. Harry cast a glance from the heavy trunk to the open space in the boot. There was no way he was going to be able to lift it by himself.

From experience, Harry knew that Vernon was prone to driving away if Harry wasn't quick enough. The only reason that Vernon had come back after Harry's second year was that a passerby had shouted, thinking Vernon was leaving Harry behind on accident. To save face, Vernon had come back. The drive home was even less pleasant after that.

Grabbing the sides of the trunk, Harry lifted it up in the air. He swayed for a second, wavering back and forth, before he stumbled forward towards the boot. Attempting to control his swaying direction, Harry directed his falling towards the open space. In a moment of luck (or was it magic?) Harry's trunk just barely slid into the boot.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he lobbed Hedwig's cage in on top of it (his beautiful owl having already left while Harry was on the train) and headed to the backseat. Harry always sat in the back, because the day he sat next to Vernon was the day he risked the beating of a lifetime. Despite Harry's many adventures, he did not, in fact, have a death wish.

Vernon didn't even acknowledge Harry before peeling out of the parking lot.

Harry sat back in his seat without a sound, wondering why on Earth he'd expected Vernon to say something.

This was pretty much how the drive home went, with Harry staring out the window, and Vernon casting nasty glances at Harry and passing drivers.

Finally, Vernon pulled into Privet Drive. Screeching to a halt at number four, Vernon leapt from the car and waddled as fast as his girth would allow to the front door. He never even spared a glance to the fifteen year old in the back seat. Harry tilted his head to look at the ceiling with a sigh. For a moment he imagined never getting out of the car - staying there just to avoid the Dursleys.

Reality set back in after a moment however, as the lady from number six gave him a suspicious glance from behind the her car window.

Sighing again as he watched her drive away, he open the door and began to tug the trunk out of the boot.

It would take a while for him to lug it up the stairs, even longer if Dudley interfered again...

Harry sighed.

 **-The Chaos Effect-**

It had taken him a total of twenty minutes to get the trunk into his bedroom. Dudley had managed to knock him down the stairs twice, and he made so much noise Vernon came and yelled at him for disrupting his show on the telly. Uncle Vernon seemed like he was in an even worse mood than usual, which did not bode well for Harry.

Making a mental note to stay clear of his relatives for the rest of the evening, Harry had just shut his bedroom door when Petunia hollered up the stairs for him to come make dinner. According to his aunt, he was to make meatloaf, one of Dudley's favorites.

Harry, relieved, because meatloaf was one recipe he knew by heart, started immediately. In no time at all, the Dursley's spotless kitchen was filled with the smell of sauce and cooking meatloaf. Like two oversized pigs who have heard the sound of the slop bucket, Vernon and Dudley drifted into the kitchen. By then Harry had already set the table and laid out the salad and chips, the former of which Harry knew neither Vernon nor Dudley would touch. Why Petunia kept trying was beyond Harry, because Vernon had made it very clear what he thought of 'rabbit food' and Dudley followed his lead.

Dinner was an awkward affair, with all the Dursleys ignoring Harry, and Harry ignoring them. As predicted, only Petunia even touched the salad, and even she didn't take that much. Vernon and Dudley both ate all of the meatloaf, leaving none for Harry, who ended up eating the salad.

Harry was clearing the plates when disaster struck. Vernon, who had more than a little whiskey in his system, whacked Harry on the shoulder when the boy got in his way. The sudden motion jarred Harry's arm, and he dropped one of Petunia's prize plates in surprise.

Vernon had been drinking because of his bad day at work. He was furious at his boss, furious at his secretary, and pretty much mad at the world. In his opinion, he'd deserved a little drink. However, nothing was little when Vernon and food were involved, and one drink had turned into three.

This pushed him over the edge, and in his drunken stupor, he'd decided to take it out on the thing that was to blame for everything in his mind - Harry.

Harry was numb as the plate slipped from his fingers. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized he had made a terrible mistake, but the was too shocked to really notice.

The plate cracked cleanly in half, splitting along one of the delicate green vines painted along the edges and through the middle. With a sound like tinkling wind chimes, the shards settled on the floor.

For a moment, neither the Dursleys nor Harry moved.

Vernon let out an ear shattering roar. "OUT! OUT OF THIS HOUSE THIS INSTANT!"

His Uncle was angrier than Harry had ever seen him. His large hands were balled into fists, and he was advancing menacingly toward Harry, spittle flying from his mouth. Harry decided that Slytherin self preservation was probably a better choice than Gryffindor bravery, because Vernon was a _lot_ bigger than him. Despite was people might think, Harry did have a self preservation instinct, one that was currently tingling like crazy.

Eyes wide, he shot toward the door, and was over the threshold before Vernon said another word.

Vernon slammed the door behind him, rattling the door frame, which was followed by a clean snick as he locked the door. Harry flew off the porch, and skidded on the driveway, nearly tripping to land on hands and knees. It was a warm night, and a faint breeze ruffled Harry's hair. He could hear cars far off on the highway, but other than that Little Whinging was silent. Harry thought it strange, because usually there was a dog barking, or some neighbor bidding guests goodnight. It was just a passing thought, however, because Harry was now quite aware that his Uncle had locked him out of the house, possibly for the night. He padded down his pockets, searching desperately for his wand. If he didn't have it on him, there was no telling what the Dursleys might do to it, and he didn't fancy being out alone at night without some means of protection. Finally, in his jacket pocket, he found the thin length of Holly.

As Harry's lingering fear faded, anger took its place. Anger at the Dursleys, anger at Dumbledore, anger at his friends, anger at the world. How dare they! How dare they treat him as a hero and then discard him without a second thought! How dare Dumbledore brush off his pleas about the Dursleys as nothing! And after Sirius… Sirius, who he'd never see again. Sirius, who was his godfather, who had asked Harry to live with him once. Sirius, who was gone.

It was too much.

Harry shoved his hands into his jeans with more force than was necessary and walked down the driveway. He felt like he wanted to explode. All of his emotions were just mixing and swirling together, his guilt for Sirius, his anger and Dumbledore and his relatives, the lingering sadness of his friend's betrayal the previous summer, fear that they'd do it again…

Harry clenched his fists, absentmindedly noting that tears were falling down his cheeks to hit the sidewalk illuminated by the streetlamps.

He wanted to curl up in a ball and cry - he wanted to break something, he wanted to fall down on his knees and never get up.

It felt like something was building inside his chest, getting ready to burst. He clenched his fists so tight it hurt, letting his nails bite into his palms while tears slipped down his cheeks.

He just _couldn't_.

He took a step forward, then stopped. He didn't know what to do. For the longest time, he stared at the street lamps, letting tears make tracks down his face that reflected orange in the artificial light.

All the breath flew out of his lungs in one loud whoosh. With a steady hand, he reached up to touch his cheeks. His fingertips came back wet and glistening, and without a glance, he wiped them on his jacket.

It was as if a dam had broken. With a lurching footstep, Harry took off, running like the devil himself had come. He tore through the streets, paying no mind to the glowing windows he passed, filled with families, nor the darkened alleyways and broken lights. He ran and ran, never knowing what he was running from - himself, the world, or perhaps fear, and tried to drown everything in the harsh breaths from his throat and the beating of his frantic heart.

His sneakers slapped the pavement in a constant rhythm, mixing with the near hysteric intakes of breath, faster now, as he pushed himself farther and farther. He passed not a single person in his flight, and cared not for which street he turned down or where he ran. He was quickly irreversibly lost, running down streets he'd never seen before.

His mind was blank of everything. It was a wonderful feeling, not to care, and Harry relished it, ignoring the pain in his chest and the dark places along the road where anything could lurk.

Finally he came to a breathless stop, far from home with the tear tracks on his cheeks dried by the wind.

At first all he cared about was doubling over to catch his breath, but he soon came to the realization he had absolutely no idea where he was.

Looking around, he tried to catch sight of a street sign or some sort of marker to give him a hint as to his location, but found none. All the houses looked exactly the same, with equally shiny cars and well manicured lawns. Nothing seemed to be even a little out of place, and it gave the entire street and eerie feel. It was too perfect, in Harry's opinion, too pristine. It was a monster hidden under a shiny facade, which Harry likened to what others saw when they looked at the Dursleys - perfect and nice on the outside, with a festering secret on the inside.

Harry was the secret, he knew. Whether it was the treatment he received, or his freakishness.

Still panting, Harry began to traipse down the street. Vernon ought to have calmed down enough by now to let Harry back in if he begged enough. He was going to be quiet, though, because the Dursleys hated 'making a scene.' Harry skipped over a crack in the sidewalk, suddenly remembering a rhyme from when Dudley was younger.

 _Step on a crack, break your mother's back!_

It was a foolish thing to think of, and avoiding cracks was something Harry never did on a daily basis, especially since his mother was dead, but tonight everything seemed strange. Harry shuffled his sneakers on the sidewalk and kept walking.

From behind him, there was a loud whoosh sound.

Harry whirled, wand in hand before he'd even turned around. Using his other hand, he covered his eyes. There was an extremely bright light floating behind him - an extremely bright _something_. Harry squinted, preparing to take a step forward, before the loud whooshing sound increased. He froze.

The things closest to the light - rocks, pebbles, a stick - were being sucked in. He couldn't see where, but the objects glowed blue before they disappeared. He had a feeling it was to nowhere good. His instincts were screaming that this was bad. Very bad.

Feeling terror grow in his gut, Harry attempted to take a step backward, but couldn't. The whooshing sound increased. Abandoning all pretense of silence, Harry let out a loud cry. His sneakers were slowly moving towards the vortex of light despite his best efforts to the otherwise. He fell to the ground, landing heavily on his back, and scrabbled at the concrete. His fingers found no purchase and he let out another yell, trying to grab the edge of the curb. The wind increased and he flew clean off the sidewalk, tumbling towards the brilliant light.

He was blinded by brilliant, glowing blue for a millisecond. And then he started to fall.

 **-The Chaos Effect-**

 _ **10:21 pm, June 1, 1996, Little Whinging, Surrey, the U.K.**_

On a road where nothing really happened, in a town where nothing really happened, the wind blew a small piece of paper down the sidewalk. The paper was quickly lodged in a crack, one which Harry Potter had jumped over moments before.

It was in this place that a phenomenon that had not been seen since the time of Merlin had occurred. It lasted for a few seconds before disappearing. The chances of it happening above the ground where a person could happen upon it were astronomical. The Earth's core is many times larger than the surface, after all. That a person would be there was even more unlikely. The chance that this person would just happen to be close enough to be pulled in was in the far reaches of probability - out there with all the other things that would never really happen.

But a butterfly flapped its wings in India.

Oblivious to it all, the residents of Little Whinging slept on.

 **Aaaand, cut! I've been working on this for a while, and I finally got around to posting it. I even planned it out and everything! Unlike my other stories where I go in with 12% of an idea (Guardians of the Galaxy reference!) and improvise. Hope you liked it! If not, go eat a pineapple.**


	2. Blue Light

**Don't own Harry Potter, folks. That's JKR's. I'm just borrowing it for personal amusement.**

 **-The Chaos Effect-**

 _ **11:59 pm, December 31, 2015, The Crown Princess, the Pacific Ocean**_

"10!"

As the large, sparkly pink number flashed across the screen in the atrium of the Crown Princess, the three thousand passengers roared it in sync.

Harry was falling. And then he wasn't. The only thing his befuddled and terrified senses got out of the whole experience was the impression of blue and a fiery, sharp pain all over his body. It hurt like the cruciatus. Fortunately for Harry, it was also brief, so he didn't end up shaking like in the graveyard. Not that Harry really cared. He was too busy trying not to freak out and hyperventilate.

Harry appeared silently and without much fanfare between a middle-aged lady with a tiara and a man in a wheelchair wearing a tophat.

There were people, pressing in from all sides, shouting. He didn't know where he was, and the light and sound were mingling together in a sensory cocktail that was making his head hurt.

Flashes of light, shouts and screams -

"9!"

Where was he? What was happening? Why was there all the lights and shouts and screams and people?

"8!"

Harry frantically looked for a way out, breath coming in sharp gasps like he was running again.

"7!"

Where was he? This wasn't Little Whinging!

"6!"

Harry tried to get through the people, looking for an exit.

"5!"

Next to him, a girl with long blonde pigtails, one of which was decorated with ribbons, jumped up and down.

"4!"

There were stairs, leading up to higher floors above him, all packed with people. The whole place was made of creamy marble, the floors, parts of the walls, the stairs…

"3!"

Harry tried again to find an exit, and discovered a hallway filled with paintings behind him.

"2!"

The crowd increased volume, nearly knocking over a Christmas tree in the corner. Why was there a Christmas tree anyway? It was the start of summer right now! Harry frowned at the decorations all over the atrium.

"1!"

Harry covered his ears as the crowd exploded into cheering.

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

Up onscreen, a glowing zero was replaced by 2016 emblazoned in huge pink bubble letters.

Harry's breath came in short gasps as he started to shake. This couldn't be possible. He was clearly hallucinating. Pushing past people, he stumbled to the hallway he'd found earlier, trying to suppress his rising panic. There were paintings all along the walls - things as simple as a messy heart to the classical poses of old England. Harry paid them no mind as he staggered past, trying desperately to find the exit. All he found was a long hallway of hotel rooms, with a small stairwell in the middle. Truly panicking now, and wanting desperately to get out of the weirdly shaped hotel, Harry ran up the stairs.

He wasn't thinking logically, a fact he was sure Hermione would berate him for later, and realized after two floors he should have been going down. This flew out of his head, however, when he spotted a heavily varnished door.

He rushed forward, stepping out onto a long, narrow balcony.

His first thought was that he must be somewhere extremely windy, because there was a quick wind blowing exactly parallel to the strange balcony. His second thought was that the building he was in must be huge, for the 'balcony' stretched quite far in each direction, with metal guardrails topped with more varnished wood.

The balcony was covered in brown plastic, with long lines parallel to the walls. Every few feet, there was a blue cushioned deck chair made with - again - heavily varnished wood. Harry thought that it was strange, but was still in too much a panic to care.

He rushed over to the handrail, leaning over the side and almost emptying his stomach. Taking a deep breath, he looked down into the darkness below. At first he thought he was in a forest or something, because there was absolutely no light. But then…

"Are those _waves_?!"

Harry leaned over the side of what he now realized was a _boat_ , and emptied the contents of his stomach.

How the heck had he ended up in the middle of the ocean? He was just in Privet Drive, for Merlin's sake! He was pretty sure Privet Drive wasn't anywhere near an ocean. All he remembered was that light - which he was pretty sure had something to do with this - and the feeling of pain and falling. What had happened to him? Maybe it had been some sort of accidental apparition or something. He was pretty sure you didn't fall when you apparated, though, and you certainly didn't feel pain. He was also positive that there wasn't a bright light, or wizards would be spotted all over the place.

What had happened? He was still trying not to panic, and was swiftly losing that battle. Fortunately for Harry, he had a knack for getting a handle on himself in dangerous situations.

He stepped away from the handrail and put his back up against the wall of the ship. Tilting his head back, he focused on taking deep breaths. It was probably just a mistake, anyway. A spell gone wrong by a wizard passing through Privet Drive or something. He just needed to work out what had happened so he could fix it.

Running his fingers through his incredibly messy hair, (humidity and salt spray weren't helping) Harry sat down. He decided to start with what he knew. He was on a boat, for one. A boat in the middle of some ocean somewhere. Which didn't really help, because over seventy percent of Earth's surface was covered with water according to Hermione. Harry let out a long sigh.

Okay, so he had no idea where he was. He'd just appeared in a celebration of some sort, with lots of people and balloons falling from the ceiling. Now that he thought about it, he remembered people shouting happy new year, which made no sense because summer was just starting -

Harry's blood ran cold. In his mind's eye, he saw the five foot tall letters emblazoned on the screen, suddenly much more sinister than they had been previously. 2016 and happy new year…

It was painting a picture that Harry most certainly didn't like. He knew time travel was possible, after third year, but not like this! This was crazy! Impossible!

Had he traveled through time? Traveled to the future?

It sure was starting to look like it.

Not to mention he had definitely changed locations - Privet drive wasn't underwater, unless some huge natural catastrophe had happened in the last twenty years. Which was entirely possible, Harry thought with a sinking feeling.

"First things first," muttered Harry.

He decided to go ask someone the year - it probably wouldn't even seem strange, new year celebrations and all - and try to figure out where he was.

Harry walked over to the door, carefully prying it open, and stuck his head inside. For some reason he was wearier now, as if he expected someone to spot him and shout, "There he is! There's the time traveler!"

Realizing that this was foolish, Harry walked into the ship. The hallways weren't empty, but they weren't exactly packed, either. Looking around, Harry didn't see anyone particularly friendly - they all looked busy - or drunk, in one man's case, judging by the fact he was staggering all over the place and the other passengers were giving him a large birth. Deciding to take a walk, because maybe he'd find someone to talk to, Harry was nearly knocked over by a young girl. She was maybe twelve or thirteen, with long red hair tied up in pigtails threaded with shiny ribbons.

Not seeming too concerned about knocking Harry over, the girl apologized and tried to pass him.

Harry held out a hand to stop her. "Wait! Could you tell me the year?"

The girl seemed confused at first, before her frown vanished. "Wasn't at a celebration, huh? Midnight just passed. 2016, here we come!"

Letting out a giggle, she ran past him. If Harry wasn't sure she was underage, he would have thought that she'd been drinking.

Collapsing into a nearby chair, Harry was forced to confront what he'd suspected all along.

He had traveled through time - to the future, no less.

It was something that could only have happened to him.

 **-The Chaos Effect-**

 _ **8:35 am, January 1, 2016, the Crown Princess, Manzanillo, Mexico**_

"This is your captain speaking from the bridge. We have now arrived in Manzanillo, Mexico. Departure time is…"

Harry groaned, cutting off the man on the loudspeaker. He must have fallen asleep in the chair last night. His back was killing him - clearly he hadn't found a very good position. He hadn't done much the night before (or was it early morning?) besides find out he was on a cruise ship - one off the coast of Mexico. After that he'd pretty much crashed in a chair, the events of the night catching up to him and the numb shock of time travel starting to wear off as Harry realized he was doomed. That's right. Doomed. He had already worked out that some weird phenomenon had taken him here - though he still thought Tom was a possibility. A Voldemort scheme seemed unlikely though, because he was sure Tom would have taken the opportunity to brag before attempting to kill him for what seemed like the billionth time.

Harry lifted a hand to run it through his hair. It was a nervous habit that he'd never been able to shake, despite the glare he received from his aunt whenever he did it in front of her. He had no idea how to get home, no idea how he'd ended up halfway around the world in the future, and no idea what he had gotten himself into. Why, he might as well stay here in this chair and never get up!

No. That wasn't his style. He would be proactive. There had to be a way out of this - there just had to be! And if there was a way, he would find it. With new resolve, and remembering the promise at King's Cross, Harry made his way to the stairs he had seen last night. If this was a ship, it only made sense that you would go down to the lower decks to get off - disembark, or whatever it was called. It never made sense to Harry why ships had all these weird names for things like front and back or right and left. Port side? Didn't all the sides have ports? It was confusing.

Harry trotted down the stairs, eventually deciding to follow a couple in Hawaiian T-shirts that looked like they knew where they were going. It didn't take long to get down to deck four, and it was easy from there. The cruise staff had signs up all over the place, telling you where to go. Harry just followed the passengers, the majority of whom were chatting about what they were going to do.

There was one problem, though. The staff were beeping all the passengers out of the ship. Each person had a small card they held up to the scanners to get off.

Harry paled. What would they do if he didn't have his card? He supposed that he could say that he had left it in his room, and leave to go look for it, but what would they do if he came back without it?

He didn't want to find out.

He wondered if the trace applied to time traveling wizards from other countries. Somehow, he doubted it. There was nothing else for it - Harry carefully slipped his wand out of his sleeve, pointing it at the woman who was scanning the cards in his line.

In a voice so low even he barely heard it, Harry whispered, "Confundus!"

For a moment the woman was confused, blinking mascara laden eye lashes at the passenger in front of her. Blushing, she apologized and hurried the man along. Harry was up next.

It was like her eyes didn't even see him. She passed right over him, not even bothering to ask for a card. Bewildered, Harry continued down the metal gangway, wondering if he'd somehow overpowered his confundus. He had always used that much power before though, and surely that hadn't changed.

Putting it aside, Harry faced the bigger problem - figuring out what to do. He was alone in Mexico with no idea where he was going. Feeling slightly ashamed of himself for following the 'sheeple,' he filed behind all the other tourists moving towards the large, brightly colored shops. Harry thought that the merchandise all looked about the same, but the passengers stopped and stared at each stand. It was extremely annoying, and he ended up weaving around people to get out.

He passed through a large bright blue gate - Mexico must have had something about bright colors - and was sent reeling from mild shock.

The place behind him and what was in front of him were very different. The street before him was chipped in places and filled with potholes. It was surrounded by a tall concrete wall, which looked like someone had taken a jackhammer to it at some point. There was not a tourist or car in sight, but there were three men farther down the street talking in rapid Spanish and smoking cigarettes. It wasn't the bright cacophony from behind him at all - not even a hint of it showed.

Brushing it off, Harry looked up and down the road. One of the men on the sidewalk flicked ash into the street.

Right it was then.

Deciding to wander, and hoping Manzanillo had a magical section, Harry looked for someone out of place to give him directions to buy a portkey or something. He wondered if 'portkey' was the same in English as it was in Spanish. Knowing his luck, probably not.

Checking his pockets, he pulled out the chance galleon he'd just happened to have from the train. Hopefully it would be enough. First he had to get back to England, and then figure out how the heck to get back to _when_ he was supposed to be…

Harry just hoped that if he didn't find anything he could get back on the boat. He didn't fancy being stranded in Mexico, no matter how nice the people were.

Pulling up at an intersection, he watched the light turn red. Across from him, a young woman stepped forward into the street. Harry noticed that she hadn't looked both ways - there was a book in her hands that she was practically glued to.

Across the street, a blue subaru pulled out and ruched across the intersection, despite the red light. It was pretty beat up in places, with a dented front fender and no front license plate. The driver must not have seen the woman, because the subaru didn't slow down at all.

Harry's eyes widened. On instinct, he shouted, "LOOK OUT!"

The woman looked up at the noise, but she clearly didn't understand the words. Her eyes locked on Harry for a second before she followed his gaze to the oncoming car.

Racing forward, Harry slammed his shoulder into her stomach, sending them both airborne as he hurled himself out of the way.

He landed heavily on top of her and she let out a loud oomph as the air was forced from her lungs. There was a hard crack on the asphalt as Harry's beat up watch impacted the ground, and the top of the cover flew off. Panting from adrenaline, Harry rolled off her, and shakily stood up. The woman didn't move, still stunned.

Realizing they were still in the middle of the intersection, Harry offered her a hand. Her eyes fixed on his palm for a second - he was shaking slightly - but she grabbed it, and he pulled her up.

They rushed to the side walk.

"G-gracias, señor," she said.

If Harry remembered his brief stint of elementary Spanish correctly, gracias was thank you, but he wasn't sure. Dudley had made sure that he learned hardly anything, anyway.

This was going to be awkward.

"Um… Anytime," he said. The way he said it made it almost sound like a question. He really hoped she knew some English.

She looked confused. "Ah, no hablo inglés, señor."

Crud. He was pretty sure she had just said that she didn't speak English, which did not bode well for any future communication. He was sure his accent was exactly helping anything, because most of the tourists that came to Manzanillo were from the U.S.

He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous gesture he did automatically whenever he was uncomfortable.

"Yeah, and I don't speak Spanish, so…" He trailed off.

They stood awkwardly on the corner for a bit, neither sure what to do. She scanned him up and down, her eyes eventually settling on his jacket sleeve. Harry looked down, and caught sight of the tip of his wand just barely sticking out, knocked free in his flying leap of heroism. He gulped and tugged hurriedly on his sleeve to cover it up.

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion before she let loose a blinding smile. Reaching down, she pulled a long length of wood from her boot.

A wand - this woman was a witch! Maybe she could help him!

Harry smiled, ready to renew his attempts at communication, but she was way ahead of him. She grabbed his arm, and tugged him back down the street, talking in fast paced Spanish the entire time.

He just about thought that she was going to drag him all the way to her house or something, when she stopped at a nondescript part of the wall. Flourishing her wand a bit more than Harry thought was necessary, she inserted the tip into a hole Harry hadn't even realized was there.

There was a dusty click, muffled by the stone, and the wall slid apart, revealing rows and rows of vendors lined up with goods. They weren't like the tacky tourist goods, though - there were things flying and buzzing - stuff that looked like potions ingredients - it was Diagon Alley all over again. High above, brightly colored birds swooped over shoppers, occasionally stopping for treats and for their owners to collect feathers to give to customers. There was one stall that looked like it was made entirely of metal, with metal cauldrons and tools set out on steel tables. The owner didn't look to friendly - he was arguing with a man entirely dressed entirely in fluorescent orange, gesturing wildly to one of the cauldrons. A woman father down lifted up a red and blue scarf, only for it to come alive and try to escape.

Harry's mouth fell open.

Next to him, his still unnamed guide laughed. Harry gave her a hurt look, which made her laugh harder. It was good to see that expressions were universal.

Still snickering, she led him to an unassuming stall farther down. Leaving him at the entrance, she walked up to a older woman sitting on a rickety chair at the back.

The two started to argue, occasionally casting glances over to where Harry was standing. Trying to pretend that he didn't feel extremely out of place, Harry took a look around the shop. There were racks upon racks of candy - chocolate, chewy squares, something that looked suspiciously like a cockroach cluster, and a few candies in the back locked in a clear box.

It looked like this was what the argument was about, because the younger woman kept pointing to them and then back at Harry.

Finally, the older woman sighed, making her way to Harry. Halfway across the shop, she stopped dead, staring straight at him. The younger woman frowned, laying a hand on her arm and staring concernedly at her face.

"Qué?" she asked.

Under her breath, the older woman muttered, "Marcado por el destino."

The younger gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Qué? Cómo?"

By now, Harry was beyond confused, looking between both of them, he asked, "What?"

The older gave an exasperated eyeroll. It would have looked ridiculous on anyone else her age, but somehow she pulled it off. "Y él ni siquiera sabe. Ven aquí, chico."

Harry didn't move. The older woman jabbed her finger to the floor and made a 'come here' motion with her hand.

Filled with trepidation for some reason he couldn't figure out, Harry inched forward until he stood directly in front of her. Reaching down with calloused fingers, she tipped his chin up. She wasn't very tall, but her demeanor made it seem so. Her eyes narrowed. Harry had the distinct feeling he was being judged. Her brown pupils, starting to blur with old age, peered directly into his soul.

Or at least it felt like it.

Finally, she released him and turned to the younger woman, who had been watching with a frown on her face. "Él es perfecto. Maria, obtener el prototipo."

The younger woman reeled back. "Pero-"

The older woman cut her off. "Yo estoy seguro. Además, él salvó su vida. Vas."

With a worried glance at Harry, the younger woman, who he suspected was Maria, ducked into the back of the shop.

A few minutes later, in which the older woman and Harry just stared awkwardly (well, hers was more piercing than awkward) she came back in.

Nestled in her hands was a small candy, which she handed reverently to the older woman. Snatching it carelessly, the elder held it out to Harry. Slowly, he took it. Their eyes were fixed on him, like they were waiting for something. Harry stalled for a second, unsure, before moving to put the candy in his pocket.

Quick as a viper, the older woman lunged forward and smacked his wrist. She shook a finger in his face and said, "Idiota. No, te lo comes."

She took the candy from him and unwrapped it, before unceremoniously shoving it in his mouth when he tried to ask what she was doing. Shocked, Harry gasped for a second, before swallowing the force-fed candy.

The look on his face must have been hilarious, because both the older woman and Maria laughed.

"Ah, la mirada en su cara!" Maria, gasped, her hands clutching her sides. At least, that's what Harry heard - but this time there was meaning. He understood what she'd said!

He tried to say 'hey,' but it came out, "Oye!"

This just made Maria laugh harder.

"That is so not funny!" Harry exclaimed.

Maria snorted before descending into giggles again.

Rolling her eyes at the younger woman, the elder said in not-Spanish, "Yes, well, but we can finally communicate. I'm Sofia, and this is Maria."

Harry frowned. "Yeah, about that… If you don't mind me asking, how can I understand you?"

Sofia gestured at her store. "I make language candies. Usually they are just for one language at a time and take months of exposure to properly work, but the one I gave you was special."

Finally under control, Maria piped in, "Yeah. That was her prototype. She said that she was saving it for someone special to come along. That's you, I guess."

Maria didn't seem particularly bothered by this fact, but it made Harry feel suddenly lacking. He glanced once more around the shop, stuffing his hands into his jeans.

Sofia huffed. "Yes, boy, you have the mark of destiny about you. I can feel it."

Harry backed up, following his ingrained reaction of denial. "No I don't - I'm normal!"

Harry was about to elaborate, but then his current situation came to mind. Time travel was not normal. It must have shown on his face, because Sofia raised a triumphant eyebrow. Harry let out a long winded sigh.

"Okay, so maybe I'm a little unusual-"

The condescending eyebrow cut him off. Harry amended the previous statement. "Alright. A lot unusual. I'm just in a bit of trouble right now - I accidentally traveled to the future - but I'm sure that it can be fixed."

Both of Sofia's eyebrows rose to her hairline. Maria flat out started. Harry shifted a bit, eyes flying to the ceiling. It really was quite nice, with pretty painted candies all around, and - was that a flying pig? It seemed Sofia did have a sense of humor.

Sophia's shocked look broke into a smile. "Oh, you are _definitely_ marked by destiny."

Harry didn't even bother to refute it this time in the face of Sophia's infuriating smugness. He was worried that anything he said would give her more ammo.

She gave him a once over, before asking, "Just how did you get to the future?"

For some reason, Harry felt safe to tell her. Maybe it was because it seemed like Sofia could tell mountains they were in her way and they would move.

Besides, maybe she had a solution. "There was this bright blue light - and suddenly I wasn't in 1996 or England."

Sofia tapped a slender finger on her chin. "Blue light… We must prepare you, boy - I have a feeling whatever happened to you isn't done yet."

Harry gaped. "What- how?"

Sofia gave him a small smile. "I'm a seer, boy. Not a very good one, mind you, but I can get feelings, impressions… You aren't done yet, not if destiny has anything to say about it."

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Harry let out a loud groan. Sophia gave him a disapproving look.

"Come. We'll get you some provisions and clothes for wherever you end up next. I'm sure I have some old things of Jose's lying around…"

Without looking to see if he was following, Sofia headed into the back of the stall, muttering to herself and checking shelves as she did so. Harry was sure that all this space couldn't fit in the tiny stall without magic - sofia must have used an expanding charm.

"Ah! Here it is! All perfectly ready! Just your size, too."

Smiling, she thrust a multicolored backpack into his arms. "Here. Just pick out some spare shoes and you'll be ready to go."

Wondering how on earth she knew his size, he glanced down at the shoes. All of them either had some kind of adornment or were in colors so bright that it hurt his eyes to look at them.

Harry supposed that it fit a candy store would have fancy shoes.

He wondered what Sofia meant by mark of destiny. That sounded suspiciously like the prophecy, something he'd almost forgotten about in the spur of the moment. _Sirius_. There was an uncomfortable swooping feeling in Harry's gut. It had been almost two days since he'd thought about Sirius. Sirius, who had given his life for Harry. Sirius, who was _dead_. The smile on Harry's face slid right off. What was he going to do? If Sofia was right, it might be impossible to get back to his own time and place!

Harry finally found a pair of shoes both in his size and without tacky plastic butterflies. Sure, they were neon green, but that was better than the pink over in the corner.

Smiling, Harry turned to thank Sofia.

He came face to face with brilliant, flowing blue light.

 **-The Chaos Effect-**

 **8:32 am, April 4, 2036, Joint research room, NASA Headquarters, Washington D.C., USA**

Maria Ationez squinted at her computer screen. She was an astrophysicist part of the joint project between Mexico and the United States. She liked work, but sometimes it was rather tedious.

She was currently checking the course of yet another asteroid, something NASA periodically insisted on just in case one was on a collision course with earth. This particular rock had already been checked by numerous scientists, and she had the math laid out in front of her to review _again_. She didn't understand why they needed fifteen separate divisions to check the calculations. It took _forever_. It was days like these when she wished she'd made a career in magic instead.

Running through yet another column of complex mathematical equations, she paused.

This wasn't right. Whoever had done this had failed to account for the gravitational pull from Venus. Intrigued and actually paying attention, she corrected the error.

She typed in a new string of numbers and ran them through the computer.

After a few seconds, there was a ding. A message flashed across the screen.

Calmly, Maria picked up the phone to dial her supervisor. "Mark, we have a problem…"

If Maria had not been there, the error would have gone unnoticed. But Harry Potter saw a car on a street in Mexico, so Maria was there. The results weren't catastrophic.

But they might have been.

 **Hope you liked my attempt at Spanish! If not, go throw a pineapple dance party. I finally got this out (yay!) after days of procrastination. Ah, well. It is now forever immortalized on the internet. In twenty years I can come back and say, "That's still there? Don't tell the boss!" Happy Thursday! Or Friday, depending on where you are.**


	3. Museum of the Unexplained

**Disclaimer: Let's see... Billion dollars? Nope. Worldwide fame? Nope. Rights to absolutely amazing Harry Potter franchise? *depressed sniffle* Nope. Not J.K. Rowling, folks. I own absolutely zilch... but I am blonde-ish so there's that similarity to go with!**

 **-The Chaos Effect-**

 _ **12:37 pm, 250 MYA, in what is now Russia**_

Harry gasped, tripped over his own feet, and landed face first in the mud.

Not the best entrance to wherever he was now. He hoped no one had seen that, whether he was anonymous or not.

Spitting, he slowly got to his feet and wiped mud off his nose. It was black and thick - it sort of reminded him of tar. He could picture Aunt Petunia's face if it ever got anywhere near her perfect furniture. She'd probably screech like a banshee. Maybe he should take some of it back just to see if the hag would keel over.

Right now, though, it was all over him and he wanted it off.

He reached down to grab his wand from his sleeve to scourgify off all the gunk. It wasn't there.

 _Great._

Now he had to find a stick, in a bunch of other sticks, in the mud. Harry ran a muddy hand through his hair before he realized what he was doing and groaned. Why did everything happen to him? As much as he would have rather not have fallen through a time-portal-thingy, the cruise ship was better than a mud hole.

He glanced around, looking for someone to ask for directions or something, but all he could see was grass. It was a huge savannah. There were some strange looking trees sticking up in the distance, but other than that the world seemed to be comprised of brownish-green stalks.

Maybe he was in Africa somewhere?

Dropping to his knees, Harry dug his hands into the mud. He needed to find his wand.

For the first few minutes, Harry didn't find anything at all. After a while, though, he must have hit some kind of fallen tree or something because he kept pulling up sticks. It was annoying. He kept thinking each one was his length of holly and letting out a sigh of relief before he realized it was just another stick.

Harry yanked one more stick out of the mud and prepared to throw it, but it moved.

He let out a yelp and jumped back, landing in the mud on his back with a splash and a crack. He must have landed on one of the sticks that he'd thrown behind him.

The stick that was obviously not a stick slithered off into the grass using strange little feet on each of its sides. It looked like a lizard but not. Harry had never seen anything like it. He wondered if perhaps it was magical when it hissed at him and sparks shot out - not normal. The little thing didn't attack though, which was good since Harry still hadn't found his wand.

Rolling over, he prepared to continue his search when he spotted a familiar reddish handle. Harry dove into the muck with complete disregard for the rest of his mud free clothing. It wouldn't matter once he had his wand back.

He yanked it out, but there was only half the handle. The rest had been broken off - probably still in the mud somewhere. Harry stared at the split shaft, half coated in black. His wand, the thing he'd had since he was eleven, his only advantage in this unreal situation was… Gone?

But… Weren't wands supposed to be unbreakable or something? They were magic for Merlin's sake!

Harry flopped back in the mud, which he was now going to have to wash off without magic.

He didn't get it. Why did everything happen to him? Quirrel, the basilisk, the Dursleys, the Triwizard tournament… Voldemort. It all came back to Voldemort, Harry supposed. Voldemort was the reason he had no parents. Voldemort was the reason he always got into some life or death situation at the end of each school year. Voldemort was probably the reason that Harry was covered in muck, had no idea where he was, and was holding the remains of his most prized possession. It was all too much at the moment. Harry just wanted to lay back and cry.

 **-The Chaos Effect-**

After twenty minutes of mourning his murdered wand (that he had accidentally been the perpetrator made it worse) Harry stumbled out of the mud pit to hopefully find some sort of civilization. He didn't even know what time it was - some time in the afternoon - because his watch was all messed up. The date didn't even show, and the time said it was 99:99, which was impossible.

He hadn't felt this hopeless in ages. At least when he was facing Quirrel or a Basilisk he was terrified and high on adrenaline. This just felt like he had lost a family member.

 _Not that I really know what that feels like,_ Harry thought.

He missed his parents, sure, but he didn't really remember them. And his relatives were not his favourite people.

The grass around him was strange - certainly not any type he'd seen before. It was thick and not very bendy and sharp like a razor. He already had a couple cuts on his hands and he hadn't even gone ten feet! On the positive side, though, it looked like this type only grew around the mud pit.

Harry took another step forward, suddenly very aware he had no idea where the lizard-thing had gotten off to.

He took another careful step forward into the grass, which sliced small cuts into his jeans. Suddenly glad he was wearing socks that were higher than the ankle, Harry carefully parted the razor-grass with both hands. A leaf of it nicked his thumb and a trickle of crimson dribbled down his arm to his elbow. Harry stuck his thumb in his mouth.

There was a rustle nearby. Something brushed up against his leg.

Letting out a (very manly) scream, Harry pushed through the razor-grass with no regard to the potential for cutting himself into strips. One piece sliced into his palm and another nicked his knee through the hole in Dudley's old jeans, letting blood trickle down his leg and into his muddy shoes.

He tromped over the remainder of the weird razor-grass, still scrambling to get away from the thing in the mud pit. His foot caught on a rock hidden by the underbrush and he went down, slamming his bloody palms into the dirt. Still attempting to get away, he ignored the pain in his palms and pushed himself to his feet.

From the razor-grass there was another rustle. Harry backed farther away.

The lizard-thing pushed its head through the stalks and coughed sparks. Harry to another step back. The lizard tilted its head to the side like a curious puppy. It suddenly looked a lot less ferocious.

Harry ran an embarrassed hand through his hair before realizing the state of his palms. Now he had blood all over his forehead and his hands stung.

He sighed.

He wiped his palms on his muddy jeans and plopped down in the grass, still keeping an eye on the lizard-thing half covered by grass. It didn't _look_ dangerous, but you never knew with magical creatures.

First things first. Harry needed to know where he was.

He glanced around, looking for some sign of something he could use to guess at his location. It didn't look familiar, but Harry had never even been out of Little Whinging besides going to Hogwarts in his life. There weren't any trees - just grass as far as the eye could see and the occasional tuft of razor-grass. Harry had never seen anything like the razor grass before, but the only place he could think of with endless savannah was Africa. Which didn't really help, because if he remembered primary school correctly there were still large unsettled areas of Africa.

In Harry's time, at least. He could be back when there were no phones or even telegraph! If that was true he was most likely screwed, because he couldn't speak anything other than english.

Harry suddenly flashed back to Sofia. And apparently, he could speak Spanish. Neither of which were spoken in Africa as far as he knew.

He might as well find a road or something he could use find civilization. Feeling like he might as well be immature if no one could see him, Harry closed his eyes and spun in circle to pick a direction.

He ended up pointing at the mud pit. Well.

How about _not_ toward the mud pit. Nodding decisively for any imaginary grass people, Harry set off directly away from the mud hole.

 **-The Chaos Effect-**

He walked for hours.

There was nothing but grass for miles and miles. Harry was convinced that it would never end. He made it worse by fiddling with the broken shards of his wand, constantly reminding himself that he had no way to defend himself and no way to get home.

He had worked himself into a depression by the time night fell.

Naturally, Harry was too busy moping to pay any real attention to his surroundings. Rocks had started to break up the grass, jutting up a few feet in the dark to make strange shapes. Clusters of trees were scattered here and there, and there was a constant buzz of small lifeforms in the background - bugs, Harry supposed. He didn't really pay much attention to the constant noise until it came to an abrupt halt.

Harry stopped walking. The savannah had gone eerily quiet. The chirping noises he had been hearing for hours were now mysteriously missing. The hair on the back of Harry's neck rose in warning. His eyes flitted across the sea of darkness, looking for something out of place.

Nothing. Not even a breeze to disturb the grass. Silent, still, and absolutely and unbearably quiet.

Harry's heart increased in tempo. He crouched down in the grass, gripping the wand shards tightly, waiting for something to move or come out of the brush to attack him. The stalks brushed against his legs and face, making him want to swat them away, but a strange fear kept him paralyzed.

For the longest time nothing moved. Then, slowly, the creatures of the savannah began to make noise again, filling the night with chirps and buzzes. Harry let out a slow breath. Mentally shaking himself for being afraid of quiet, he stood up.

Something still wasn't right, though. It was like there were eyes on the back of his neck. It was the same feeling he got when someone was watching him in the hallways at Hogwarts.

He kept walking, significantly slower than before, in the direction of a distant group of trees. Every few seconds, he glanced around, searching for the mysterious feeling that still hadn't gone away.

Eventually it faded into the background, and Harry ignored it, resuming his previous pace. He still didn't know what he was going to do for the night. The plan to find civilization had been completely scuppered and now he had to focus on where he was going to sleep. Maybe even what he was going to eat, if it ended up he was stuck here that long. Harry certainly hoped not. He liked not starving, thank you very much!

There was a rustle in the bushes to his left, and Harry stopped dead.

Too late, he realized he could no longer hear the chirping and buzzing. Wide eyed, he stumbled backward, away from the movement and deeper into the grass. His breath whooshed out in panicked gasps, the irrational fear from earlier coming back with vengeance.

He didn't have his wand - he was utterly defenceless - he could die, be _eaten_ and no one would ever be able to tell - just gone, vanished from the face of the earth-!

There was another rustle as whatever it was moved farther away. Harry kept quiet, too terrified to move. Whatever that was, it wasn't natural. Harry hadn't seen the creature, but some intrinsic part of him screamed that it was _wrong_.

It felt like it was still there _watching_ him like a perverse guardian angel.

That thing, whatever it was, was not normal. It was like a dementor - but it fed on fear instead of sadness. To someone whose worst fear was fear - a dementor, as a matter of fact, it was a boggart on steroids.

Harry's hands were shaking. He had never felt this afraid in his life - not even when facing the basilisk or Quirrel or even Voldemort in the graveyard. He needed to get out of there, away from that thing…

Jumping to his feet, Harry abandoned any pretense of stealth and scrambled off into the underbrush. He hoped the thing couldn't climb - if he made it to the trees and hid in one...

Something in the grass tripped him up, he went down fast, palms slamming into the dirt. Something pricked his left hand. It felt deep enough to draw blood, but Harry paid it no mind, scrabbling to gain purchase so he could resume his mad dash. He thought he heard a rustle behind him…

His foot caught and he surged forward, away from whatever it was. He ran as fast as he could, arms moving up and down like pistons and legs moving as fast as he was able at a flat sprint.

The trees came closer. Harry grabbed a branch and swung himself up, careless towards the scratches he might have in the morning. All that mattered was getting to where the creature couldn't reach him. The branches were nearly indistinguishable from the leaves in the dark and Harry had to wave his arms around to find them.

His left hand connected with a branch and Harry heaved himself up higher, panting. He kept up like this until he could climb no higher - there were no more branches. Swaths of stars peeked through the foliage above. There were far more than Harry had ever seen. Usually light pollution from London or Hogwarts herself blocked them out.

Harry leaned back against what remained of the original truck and took a deep breath. His hands were shaking from the adrenaline, just faint white outlines in the dark. He clasped them together and breathed out slowly.

It hadn't followed him here, as far as he could tell. The only sounds around him were the good kind - just steady background buzzing. Harry took another breath, staring at the stars and telling himself to calm down. He had lost it back in the brush, and the fear was irrational anyway. Still, it was awhile before he stopped shaking and was able to think rationally.

 **\- The Chaos Effect -**

The sun peeked up above the horizon in a blaze of orange and lit up the tree he was sitting on. It looked a lot stranger in the light than the dark. He hadn't noticed it yesterday when it was still light out, but the trees in the grove were all the same type. They had strange ridges in an interlocking pattern for bark. They were eerily straight, too - Harry thought it looked like some kindergartener had taken a ruler and run their green pencil down it for the tree trunks and branches. The leaves themselves looked more like needles in a pine tree that had been flattened into leafy plates. Harry had never seen anything like it, in a textbook or otherwise.

There were no signs of life in the Harry's tree. Nothing rustled the branches or chirped. It was strange - one of those things you didn't notice until it was gone.

Where were all the birds?

Carefully, Harry began to descend from his tree. There was a deep scrape on his right arm from the night before, running from his wrist to about halfway to his elbow. Some of the bark from the tree had gotten in it, and it was getting puffy and red. He also had a pin prick on his left palm, which was painful but not actually that deep. He'd have to clean both once he found some water or supplies.

Harry slipped off the last branch and landed smoothly on the ground in a crouch. His fingers brushed a smooth divot in the ground. Harry looked down and froze.

In the dirt was a print. It was the size of Harry's head, easily spanning the distance between his hands. The print was vaguely cat shaped, with one palm and four toes tipped with wicked claws that dug deeply into the dirt.

Tracks wound around the tree Harry had jumped down from, mixed together and muddied by the amount of times the creature had circled. Long gashes marred the otherwise unblemished trunk of the tree, deep enough to show fresh green wood.

Harry swallowed. Whatever had been stalking him was big. _Very_ big.

Whatever it was, the thing was toying with him.

Harry rubbed the gash in his arm and looked around nervously. Everything appeared normal - no glowing eyes or sense of foreboding doom… Yet. Harry was sure his infamous Potter luck would kick in eventually.

A grumbling from his stomach alerted him to something else: he was hungry. Somehow, he was still wearing Sophia's multicolored backpack monstrosity, even if it did have quite a few splotches of mud decorating it and a missing zipper tie. The only good thing was that the neon green shoes in the outer pocket were now a tamer forest-y green from all the dirt. Harry's own sneakers were just brown blobs somehow attached to his feet. The rest of him wasn't much better - some of the mud had dried and flaked off, but the rest was tenaciously hanging on to Harry's hair and clothes.

Harry slung off the backpack and unzipped it to see if Sophia had included any food.

He found a flashlight, water bottle, a change of clothes, and a little book that refused to open, but no food.

Harry glanced around. Nothing in sight was recognizable, let alone edible. Maybe he'd go hunting? Harry knew next to nothing about hunting, and the only creatures he had met so far had either tried to eat him or were too… electric for his tastes.

There was nothing for it. He'd just have to walk around until he figured it out of found something.

Harry picked a random direction and set off.

For the first twenty minutes he was fine. By thirty he was annoyed. Forty had him stopping and scratching at his arms like a madman.

The mud _itched_! It felt like there were ants under his skin making a conga line! The cuts were even worse. It felt like something was clawing him, trying to get out with every step he took. The cuts were inflamed, oozing an orange pus, and hot to the touch.

Harry stopped and grabbed his right arm, squeezing on either side of the cut. There was a sharp, cutting pain he felt all the way to his shoulder, and then orange goo dribbled out long his wrist and off his arm. It fizzled when it hit the ground.

Harry winced and tried not to whimper.

Orange pus was _not_ normal. Something was seriously wrong with him.

Harry placed both hands over the cut on his arm are willed the pain to just _go away_. There was a tingling sensation in his fingertips. His arm twinged. Harry stumbled, a wave of exhaustion sweeping over him.

He wavered to the left and fell down on to the grass. It was a battle just to keep his eyes open. Black crept along the edges of his vision, and he used his left hand in a feeble attempt to keep himself upright.

Harry had just enough time to rise his right arm to his eyes before he lost consciousness. His forearm was caked in dried dirt, blood, and other unpleasant things, but one was absent.

The gash was gone.

 **-The Chaos Effect-**

 _ **12:32 pm, July 5th, 1878, Northern Siberia, Armado Dig Site**_

Richard Pratt lit up a new cigar. When his professor, Harold Marcus, had asked if he wanted to if he wanted to accompany him to a dig site in Russia, he'd thought it would be a great idea.

Richard had forgotten that it was cold in Siberia, even in July, and that he wasn't qualified to actually _do_ anything. Sure, he was working on his degree - almost finished, actually - but he didn't have any sort of diploma, and was thus kept out of the action. The other archeologists were finding fascinating creatures and evidence of more hidden in the rocks, and he was in here helping with the paperwork.

How frustrating.

They had found evidence of a large volcanic eruption happening sometime in the past, and claws and a leg bone in some of the earlier layers. At least he had been allowed to come see the finds, if he hadn't participated in the cleaning and handling.

Richard moved another sheet dedicated to the dwindling funding aside. It was too bad that the general public and parliament weren't too interested in fossils and old bones.

Just another day… Maybe something would finally come and relieve him from the monotony.

One of the archeologists burst through the door. The man was only a couple years older than Richard, and had barely finished his own degree. Right now he was delegated to grunt work. Richard couldn't care less.

He jumped from his seat. "What? What is it?"

The archeologist's hair was mussed and he looked excited and confused. "Mr. Marcus don't know. Figured that you might want to see, though."

Richard was out the door with his coat and boots on in the time it took for the man to finish speaking.

He quickly walked along the trail to the dig site, pulling up short when he saw the crowd surrounding a clean patch of earth.

Richard overcame his surprise at seeing so many people in just this one part of the sit and elbowed his way through to stand by Henry. Henry crouched down next to the brushed patch of earth and pointed at something off to the side.

"What do you think of that, Rich?"

Richard bent down next to his mentor, eyes firmly fixed on the ground before him. "What in God's name…?"

 **-The Chaos Effect-**

 _ **2:15 pm, 250 MYA, in what is now Russia**_

Harry groaned. Sunlight blasted through his barely open eyelids, making his head pound. Had Dudley attacked him again? It certainly felt like he'd taken one of his cousin's right hooks to the prefrontal cortex. Harry shifted, feeling grass scratch him through the back of his shirt.

Oh, that was right. Creepy savannah of doom. Wonderful.

Harry let out another groan and tried to sit up. He put in too much effort and ended up nearly tipping over. Body cooperating more than expected. That was good.

Harry looked down to give himself a once over and gasped. He was clean! All the mud was gone. Even his backpack, which had fallen off when he fell over, was spotless. The shoes were back to headache-inspiring green. Not only that, but his cuts were gone. Vanished, along with the blood.

Harry inspected his arms, turning his hands over and back. There was nothing. Not even a scar to show that they had been there.

Something had happened.

It reminded Harry of when he was a little boy in the cupboard. Harry Hunting always produced bruises on Harry's part, but they were always gone by morning. When Harry had gone to Hogwarts, he had brushed it off as accidental magic. But this wasn't accidental. He'd been _thinking_ about being dirty, _thinking_ about how much his arm hurt… and now he was fine.

Magic…

Dumbledore had always been said to be able to use small bit of wandless magic. Maybe Harry could too?

Turning his gaze to his surroundings, Harry focused on a small pebble lying a few feet away. Mcgonagall had told them on the very first day that focus and visualization were the keys to magic. In his head, Harry imagined the pebble rising into the air, slowly floating toward him.

Nothing happened.

Magic rarely worked on the first try. Harry knew from countless hours of frustrated experience. Refocusing on the pebble, Harry tried again. At first nothing happened, but then the pebble twitched. It bounced a bit, like the earth beneath it was shaking, before tentatively rising part way into the air.

There was a strange high pitched vibration, which Harry felt deep in his chest, and then the pebble exploded.

Shards flew in every direction, one piece hitting a startled Harry in the face.

Clearly this would take practice.

Hunger forgotten, Harry found a new pebble and tried again.

 **-The Chaos Effect-**

A pebble floated a foot off the ground, slowly making its way across a clearing in the grass. It stopped for a moment, hovering in the air and vibrating, before continuing its slow journey.

Harry kept his eyes furious, fixed -

The pebble gave another shudder and dropped to the ground. Harry sighed. He'd been at it for hours. And the best he had gotten was a few feet and maybe, maybe, if he was lucky, no explosions. The first three rocks he had tried had similar ends to the first, but Harry was clever enough to shield his face when the ominous vibrations started. The backpack was a little worse for wear, but Harry had no new bruises or cuts.

He was missing something, he could feel it. He was so close! Why wouldn't it work?

Granted, it was wandless magic, and he had no teacher, but he'd done things like this all the time as a kid. Why couldn't he do it now?

He was hungry, too. He hadn't eaten hardly anything since the day before yesterday.

He needed food. Climbing to his feet, Harry swung on his backpack and set off.

He wondered how Ron and Hermione were doing. Summer had barely started, so they were probably catching up with their respective families. Hermione was probably telling her parents about everything that they had learned that year, and Ron… Well, Ron was probably talking about all the quidditch matches even though Mr. and Mrs. Weasley already knew about them from his letters. He wondered if they noticed that he was missing.

Were they frantic, trying to find him? Or did they have no idea? It had only been a few days, after all.

But Harry was back in time. A few days to him might be a year to them or even no time at all! Hermione and Ron could be old and gray by the time Harry got back, and he had no way of knowing.

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Harry slowed to a stop. The sun was starting to set, casting brilliant orange rays across the sky. Harry had wandered a long way from his tree, and he had no idea which direction the mud pit he had arrived in was. There was another one ahead of him. It was much larger than the last, stretching for quite a while in either direction. Harry was going to have to walk through it or take a massive detour if he wanted to keep going in the same direction. Not that it really mattered. He had no idea where he was going anyway.

Letting out a sigh, Harry started to step forward, but froze. The ever-present buzzing that he had gotten used to had vanished. Harry stared at the setting sun with new panic. He had forgotten about the beast!

And judging by the silence, it was close.

Harry turned around slowly to look behind him. For a moment he relaxed, seeing nothing.

Then a large brown blur hurtled toward him from the left.

Harry threw himself sideways, crashing through the grass and nearly falling into the mud. The edges of the pit were soft enough to leave prints, but not soft enough to sink into.

The beast landed on all fours in front of him, fixing him with lamp-like green eyes. It was large, the size of a bear, with wicked claws and tawny fur. It looked like a lion, almost, except it was much to stocky and and had a streak of black fur down its back that stood up like spikes. Green eyes stared intelligently back at him, like the beast knew exactly what Harry was thinking and was laughing at him. It bared its teeth, revealing four inch long canines tinged slightly purple.

Was this thing _venomous_?

The beast took two slow steps forward, a rumbling growl building in its throat.

Harry instinctively scrambled back, hands sinking deeply into the mud. The beast lunged for Harry's neck with a deep roar. Harry lurched sideways, into the pit-

The beast missed, flying past him and impacting the mud with a loud squelch. It tore its claws from the earth and made a swipe at Harry.

Harry backed up, casting a frantic glance over his shoulder as claws whistled by his ear.

The thing was growling, tossing its head with a crazed look in its eyes. Purple venom flew every which way from its maw. Something about Harry seemed to drive it mad - there was no doubt in Harry's mind that if given half a chance the thing would kill him. The intelligence of earlier seemed to be absent; there was only Harry.

The beast lunged again, this time clipping Harry's side with razor sharp claws. Harry let out a gasp - more in surprise than pain. The beast whirled around for another strike, but Harry moved, tearing through the grass to the deeper part of the mud pit.

The beast let out a horrible screech, which reverberated through the ground and caused Harry to stumble and clap both hands over his ears. Harry regained his senses and continued to run, terror pounding through his veins. He heard the rumble of paws on the ground behind him, getting closer and closer.

Harry had a plan - albeit a very bad plan, but it was the best his terror filled mind could come up with. He turned right, desperately hoping that he was going the right way. The creature landed to his left, having caught up with him and missed him due to his turn.

Harry thought that his heart would jump out of his chest; he sprinted faster than he was sure it was possible to go…

It growled behind him and Harry skidded to a halt, trapped between the deeper mud pit and the creature. It bounded forward, claws extended straight for his throat. Harry dove left and the mass of teeth and claws flew above him, landing in the mud pit.

It let out a yowl, clawing desperately at the mud around it. It was sinking - the pit was deeper than Harry had thought. Claws tore deep canyons into the mud, but they were quickly filled by gravity. The beast tilted its head back, shoulders sinking under the surface, and let out a keening scream. For a moment Harry stepped forward, tempted to help it, but then it snarled again, and he stopped. Green eyes locked with Harry's own as the beast was swallowed by the mud and vanished.

The mud gave a wet plop and was still.

Harry stood there, hands on his knees and wondering why he felt like crying. He was alive. It was just another one of those things that always happened to him. He was used to it.

But this one felt different. Like it was important, somehow. He'd changed something.

He told himself it didn't matter.

Harry sat down by the mud, belatedly realizing that he still had his backpack. His hands were covered in mud, but the rest of him was somehow alright. He lifted his shirt to inspect his side. The claw marks weren't deep, but they had somehow turned purple. They ran diagonally from the back of his right shoulder to right hip in three parallel lines. Harry poked them experimentally.

Nothing happened. The marks didn't even twinge.

Desperately hoping that he wasn't poisoned, Harry let go of his shirt and sighed. Why did these things always happen to him? Granted, at least he wasn't in Madame Pomfrey's care, but it was the nature of the thing. None of his friends seemed to have his kind of problems. He wondered if his parents had these kinds of problems. It seemed like they might, given all the escapades Sirius had said they got up to in school. Absentmindedly, Harry started to write his troublemaker father's name in the mud by his feet.

He got out a _J_ and _A_ and part of an _M_ before he was startled by the rushing return of bright blue light.

 **-The Chaos Effect-**

 _ **1:52 pm, January 14, 2006, Museum of the Unexplained, Glasgow, England**_

"Mummy! Mummy, look!"

A young red haired girl tugged on her mother's hand. The mother smiled indulgently and allowed herself to be pulled over to a large fossil display. The section of rock was held vertically in a glass case, florescent lights throwing each indent into sharp relief.

Most of the rock was completely normal, but the left hand side held a single handprint, fingers splayed apart, and two shoe prints, one clearer than the other but still easily identifiable. Carved into the rock next to the handprint were the letters _**J A Y**_. The _Y_ was messily drawn, the two top lines almost blurring together. A plaque next to the rock identified it as _**Jay in Siberia.**_

The little girl pointed to the plaque. "Read it mummy! Read it!"

The mother frowned at the little girl. "You said that the mammoth would be the last one. Why don't you try reading it, Amelia. You need to practice for school."

The little girl pouted. "Please?"

The mother sighed. "Alright. But you read the next one, okay?"

Amelia hurriedly nodded, red hair flying across her face.

The mother bent down to the plaque.

"The above stone was found in Siberia in 1878 by an english archaeologist group looking for paleoproterozoic fossils. It was found amongst other stones showing claw marks and large cat prints."

The mother and daughter ganced at each other, the mother giving Amelia a mischievous look. Amelia laughed.

"However, no known cat matches the specific prints, and carbon dating has shown the stone to be from the paleoproterozoic era. The mystery surrounding the hand prints on the stone and clear shoe print has led to many conspiracy theories about time travel. The word Jay, inscribed into the stone has also sparked much debate, as many cultures across the world include old tales with men carrying similar names. One of the men who discovered the piece, Richard Pratt, quit his archaeological career and dedicated his life discovering hidden traces of similar unexplained occurrences throughout history, such as…"

 **And done! Yay! I managed to update! And plan. Like, I actually have a complete plan for this story! Typed and everything! Lots of prepared excitement over here. (: Hope you liked it! If not, go eat a fruit salad. It'll make you feel better. Happy November!**


End file.
